


Thus, alone, such strife to bear --

by fallenidol_453



Category: The Dragon Prophecy - Mercedes Lackey & James Mallory
Genre: I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I will spread my gay hands all over this ship, M/M, Not Beta Read, Pining, excuse this humble offering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 02:57:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15500790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallenidol_453/pseuds/fallenidol_453
Summary: Denerarth pines, and pines again.





	Thus, alone, such strife to bear --

**Author's Note:**

> I write down _one line_ and look at what it spawned. Title is from Power of Love by Anne Bronte. Lines in italics are directly lifted from the books.
> 
> The Dragon Prophecy Trilogy belongs to Mercedes Lackey and James Mallory. Any mistakes to canon in here is entirely my fault.
> 
> Edit, 3/16/2019: Changed and removed some lines to better reflect book events I somehow missed 5+ rereads ago, whoops!

Denerarth pines.

He feels like it’s the only thing he can do.

\--

Chief Lightborn may have their own personal Lightborn, just like how a Lord or Ladyholder may have their own personal Lightborn. But Lightborn in general do not have servants.

Thurion is Landbond— _was_ Landbond—and insists he has no need of Denerarth’s services when he offers them, and that he’s perfectly capable of waiting on himself. But Thurion hasn’t formally dismissed him, and Denerarth stays.

Not even the promise of freedom would make him leave.

-

The cloak becomes a long-running and good-natured argument: Thurion forgets his cloak after stepping out of whichever tent he was in prior and insists he’s warm enough; Denerarth insists he’s going to freeze before he reaches the comfort of his pavilion— _their_ pavilion.

Another argument, one even older than the first, is over names.

_“I have told you a thousand times and more. I am not your master. And my name is Thurion.”_

Denerarth calls him Master Thurion anyway. Sometimes Not-Master Thurion, just to humor him.

He just wants to hear his voice.

-

Vieliessar High King sends Thurion on a mission to the Great Windsward.

Denerarth doesn’t accompany him.

He doesn’t argue the decision. It’s safer for Thurion to go alone, where his Lightborn green robe will protect him from violence and all Houses will receive him with honor.

But he still worries. Thurion may be received with honor and be protected from violence, but who knows what might be lurking in the shadows of a House who views the High King as an enemy? Surely no one would stoop so low as to hide a knife in the dark…

Thurion tells him it's only a simple trip and he will be fine, and Vieliessar High King will protect him while's he gone.

Nonetheless, Denerarth sleeps little and dreams of the worst.

-

His worries are unfounded: Thurion returns. If Denerarth hugs him tighter than normal upon their reunion, Thurion doesn’t comment on it.

-

Denerarth will remember Vieliessar High King’s coronation until the day he dies.

For all the wrong reasons.

He doesn’t get a good look at the red-skinned-and-red-winged creatures that swoop down from the sky, but he hears screams an instant later. His first instinct is to run to where Thurion is on the wooden platform _so far away_ from the plaza, but the writhing and fallen blood-spattered, torn bodies block his path.

Screams fill his ears. Blood fills his vision. He runs—in the opposite direction from Thurion, against the press of bodies running in all directions.

No one, from the highest ranked lord or lady to a baby in arms, is safe from the slaughter taking place. The creatures seem to have a contest among themselves over who can cause the messiest, cruelest death, and every inch of the plaza is soon covered in blood and gore.

The luckier ones are taken up into the sky. To where, no one knows.

Denerarth slips and falls onto the blood-soaked grass. He sees stars as the woman who fell next to him is picked up and flown off. Heaving, he forces himself up and makes a break for the Flower Forest. Some survivors follow, and they seem too far from the safety of the trees.

His feet take him down a familiar path despite his panic. The Lightborn camp still stood here. He drops to his knees and cries from sheer relief as he crosses its threshold and other survivors catch up to him. Like him, they are bruised and disheveled and covered in everyone’s blood.

Someone starts screaming, and Denerarth is too scared and exhausted to get up and run. He left Thurion behind to die and he can’t forgive himself for that. If one of those creatures followed them, then he’ll die as well.

_“It is the High King! She lives!”_

He recognizes the voice but cannot place the name. He looks up.

The High King is there.

And Thurion, who is sagging with exhaustion as if he’d cast a dozen great spells—

Denerarth gets to his feet with renewed energy and rushes toward Thurion to hug him tightly. He’s crying again and he’s covered in gore and his arms are caked with dirt and blood but he does not _care_ , Thurion is alive and that is the most important and they will survive this together.


End file.
